Ages old
by Aellepi
Summary: It is a not-age-old fight between them. It will start out of nowhere. It will end without a proper conclusion. A one-shot. Slashy themes ahoy!


Hello! My first _Good Omens_ fic. I'm a bit nervous. Because this is... I don't know. An idea that came to me and I started writing it and then the whole thing went in an entirely different direction than I had meant it to go. That's why it would be appreciated if you reviewed and told me what you think of this and why you think it. :)

Enjoy!

**Warning:** No warn- Wait. Slashy themes down there. Some kisses and the such. Also, most possibly, the contents of your own minds. (Which is why I put the rating to T. I doubt that it's T really, but... Well. Just to be on the safe side, considering this is pretty ambiguous.)

**Disclaimer:** _Good Omens_ was written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I am neither, which should tell you why this is nowhere near as good as anything they have ever written. Seriously. (That's why I asked for the reviews, see. With them, I can improve)

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><p><strong>Ages Old<strong>

It is a not-age-old fight between them. It will start out of nowhere. Maybe a tune, maybe the look of someone on the street or the restaurant that they will be currently in, and, without a doubt, they will suddenly start this argument that neither could _really_ win.

Crowley knows that in such matters Aziraphale has a point, but he's a demon and demons do not regret. He tells that to his angelic companion.

At this point, it will be more than usual for Aziraphale to kindly point out that Crowley – despite supposedly being the evil demon that he is supposed to be – _does_ feel regret. And there is no excuse for giving pain and suffering of any kind to humans.

And so they will argue, not loudly or even vehemently or hurtfully. Just speaking to the other calmly, and the other will listen closely and intently, even when they have heard these points before. Then it can take up to two weeks, or even months, before the other will make their own point, will tell their own view of things, and it will always be in that same calm manner, as if they were talking of the weather.

It is a game of chess using single words as pawns, tones of voices as bishops, small touches as knights, chaste kisses as rooks, looks as queens and silence as their kings.

When Aziraphale starts the argument, it will quickly become very complicated. The angel will play innocently and impulsively, as if he has never played this game before, doing his moves quickly and with not much thought. It will cause complications as Aziraphale is an angel, and a surprisingly – wondrously, sinfully – cunning one at that.

When Crowley starts the argument, it is intense from the very first move. The demon will play slowly, reflecting on each word, phrase, look and move carefully. It makes the game darker, filled with inflections that are hard to decipher. More meaningful, though not many people would believe that to be the case.

At some point in the game, be it only a few weeks or even years after the current one started, Crowley will come to the bookshop. The two will act normal around each other, ignoring the air of the argument that has appeared around them. They will talk quietly of nothing, drink wine and fall into silence when there is nothing to be said.

During the night Crowley will go to Aziraphale's old gramophone and place the vinyl that he has brought with him on it. And it is only on these occasions, when the game will be ended, that the sound that leaves the old player is dark. Not necessarily melancholic or sad. Just dark, something that haunts the shadows of the back room of the bookshop. Something that fills the room and the angel's and demon's minds to the point of oblivion.

The two will listen in silence and, eventually, there will be dancing. And the dance will smoothly follow the melody that the catching record paints before them, the instruments almost forcefully directing their movements. Sometimes there is only one piano, its song quite simple, while on other times there can be a full regalia of sounds, ranging from the sombreness of the cello to the cheeriness of the flute, from the insistence of a trumpet to the patience of the drum.

Aziraphale's eyes will be a little saddened, listening to the music that is beyond beautiful even to an angel's ear. Still he will smile contentedly, knowing that his most cherished one is happy.

Crowley will only feel joy, the thrill at having bested someone coursing through his veins. He will forget for one dance, for one infinite song one of the only things in the world that can make him truly regretful.

And when the last note dies away and they stop dancing, the not-age-old fight will have ended the only way it can. Because despite everything, despite how the game starts or is played, it will always end in the same way. There are and never will be any exceptions.

The echoes of the music will leave the room in silence, while the minds of the two ageless beings will still be filled by it, the tune swirling around inside them. It will make them want to dance more, but without the actual notes sounding in the darkened room, they will not. Instead, they will look at each other.

Crowley will see the sadness in his angel's eyes and finally feel the regret, a deep, gut-wrenching pain that he always feels once he has won the argument. His breath will be caught – by the pain and regret as much as the beauty of the divine being before him – and he will lean forward to kiss Aziraphale.

Aziraphale will see the guilt swarming inside his demon's bared eyes and he will feel a little glad, knowing that Crowley is aware of the pain that his cheating has caused. It shows a true goodness in the devilish being, as does the gentle kiss.

What is left of the game will be used in an almost careless manner, the two giving their everything and nothing to the other. They will use murmured apologies and endearments as pawns, urgent and loving tones of voices as bishops, light and soothing caresses as knights, hungry kisses as rooks, desperate and accepting looks as queens and the guilty and unforgiving silence as their kings.

Crowley will, in his own way, break the heart that he hasn't got.

And still Aziraphale will not forgive the demon.

In the light of the new day, everything that has come to pass the night before, everything that hurt, that healed, that meant something, would be seen differently. The meanings changed, but not necessarily in a wrong way. Some things will be understood as the other meant them and some things will be purposefully misinterpreted.

Everything will go back to normal. Or as normal as life ever has been for the two ageless beings. They will have, for the lack of a better word, a haven of their own in this normality. Something they cherish, though they would not dare tell anyone that, not even the other. They will become their old selves, and there will be no stretching silences as one waits patiently for the other to make their point. There will not be a dark melody drifting around in the bookshop.

Until the next argument, that is.

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><p>Hem. Now that you have read this, that review I spoke about earlier would be really, really nice. It can include criticism (much needed), praise (hardly likely), neutral comments and everything that is between those three. Please? ^-^<p>

Ta!


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